I Can Learn
by mural
Summary: A boy watches his mother commit suicide. His silence frustrates the CSIs but Greg tells them a story that may change their point of view. Short fic.


**I Can Learn**

_A little fic I've been thinking about. Enjoy! Characters mostly not mine... :( Oh and I totally made up that depression pill's name. _

Sara frowned at the woman's cold body. "Ridiculous," she muttered. Nick nodded next to her.  
"Must be pretty sick when a mother wants to take her own life." Sara agreed silently. The gun lay on the floor, frozen in her right hand, blood spatter covered the cabinets, her head was sickening. Warrick looked around.  
"This is a suicide. Why are we here?"  
"Cops took in the son. Said they found him on his knees, or something like that, covered in her blood, his hand on the gun in her hand. Looked suspicious I guess."  
"Sounds like teenage curiosity to me." Sara cringed.  
"That terrible Warrick." He shrugged. It is what it is man. Sorry. Woman." Sara rolled her eyes. Greg poked his head around the corner, eye brows furrowed, peering at the scene, as if if was trying to place a long distant memory. He looked down at the counter at two purple pills.  
"What are those you think?" asked Nick. Greg carefully picked one up.  
"Xanathin." He said confidently. "I thought they quit making these in the nineties. These seriously screw you up. They're supposed to stop mood swings. They just make you listless man. It's disgusting."  
"How do you know?"  
"My mom took them," he said, shrugging. "She would take one of these in the morning and I didn't see her until dinner. And even then she would just sit there, staring, thinking..." He trailed off, staring at the pills. "Our's were pink. They made them that color so you couldn't miss them on the counter. You could pick your color. Sickening in a way. God I hated those things."  
"Do they highten the risk of suicide or suicidal thoughts."  
"Probably." He put the pill in an envelope and set it next to some blood swabs. He eyed the stairs and then stepped up and few.  
"Can you see me?"  
"No."  
"Ah, but _I_ can see _you_." He chuckled to himself. "You think maybe he saw her?"  
"That's a very likely situation. We'll have to talk to him." Greg nodded and walked back down. "Poor kid." Sara nodded.

-------------------

"'Look kid, if you did it, you should just tell us now.' And you know what he said?" Warrick looked at Nick. Nick waited for a second and Warrick rolled his eyes. Sara laughed.  
"I don't know Nick. What?"  
"Ok. Get this: Nothing. The kid won't talk! He's driving everyone nuts! His dad is mad at the cops, the cops are made at him and he's just sitting there with his freaking mouth shut." Catherine shook her head.  
"Teenagers are little pains, let me tell you that much."  
"No, not Lindsey."  
"Yes Lindsey." She sipped her coffee. Grissom chewed on his Chinese food thoughtfully.  
"Maybe he's deaf. Maybe that's why his dad is mad."  
"Grissom."  
"I'm only exhausting all possible motives."  
"Maybe he's hurting," said Greg. They all looked up. He'd been quiet since he'd climbed off the stairs at the house, looking thoughtful, as if that memory still hadn't come to him.  
"What do you mean?"  
"I think he saw her. I think he saw her kill herself and I think he's in shock because something like that really hurts, you know?"  
"And you know all about this, do you?" said Sara. He shrugged and twirreled some Ramen on his fork. "Really? What do you know?" He looked at her and then at his noodles.  
"I was sixteen when I saw my mother shoot herself in the kitchen. I was standing on the stairs, just like I was earlier today. She could see me, but I could see her. I saw the pink pills on the counter and I saw the gun in her hand. It's the scariest thing to watch. To watch someone actually do that. Take their own life. Especially when that someone's your mother. And it hurts. And your speachless. And then people yell at you for not saying anything and you just have to sit there and gather your thoughts, but nobody really sees that and you can't _tell_ them because you can't talk. You need to give him some time. He'll talk. He will, I _know_ he will. I didn't talk for a while either. It took them weeks to release me, no matter how much evidence they had in my favor. There was this one cop with nasty garlice bread and all this fat hanging off of his arms."  
"Gross," said Sara. Greg nodded.  
"And he would lean real close to me and it was all I could do not to crack a smile because it was just like being in a cartoon." He smiles at the memory. Then he shrugged and stood. "Just give him some time. He'll warm up. It's like being frozen. You've got thoughts and feelings and emotions and you want to form them into words, but you can't. All you can see is that one moment where you froze and let her do it." He looked at the floor. "Give him a day." Then he picked up his jacket off the couch and said, "I don't know about you, but I have permission to go home. Got a date tonight. I fianlly manage to get my friends to stop planning blind dates behind my back. Or is it a second date? I'm not sure if the first time was a real date. We didn't actually eat dinner. Does coffee count as dinner? No idea." He began to sing a bit under his breath. "_Owner of a lonely heart... Owner of a lonely heart, much better than the Owner of a broken heart. Owner of a lonely heart..."_


End file.
